Panic at the Disco
by therunawaypen
Summary: Something goes terribly wrong as Sherlock and John investigate murders linked to an underground sex club. Now, they're the main attraction. Will they be able to rise to the occasion to avoid a fatal curtain call?
1. Chapter 1

"This disaster is entirely your fault."

"Really John, I think you are exaggerating just a bit."

"We're in a cage in the middle of an underground sex club, _stark naked_, and you think I'm exaggerating?"

Sherlock didn't seem fazed by their lack of clothes (this was the man who wore a sheet to Buckingham Palace), only taking a moment to tests the handcuffs that had his wrists shackled behind his back and connected to the top of the cage by a length of chain, "I was referring to your suggestion that this is _all_ my fault."

John, fortunately enough, was not bound in any way, "You're the one who decided to break in." He muttered, examining Sherlock's chains. The chain was short enough that Sherlock couldn't sit on the floor of the cage, nor could he kneel with without bending over. It was a rig that had obviously been used before.

"And you decided to follow me."

"Sherlock, I-"

It was then that the stage lights of the club were turned on their cage, filling the cage with white light. John could hear the murmurs of the crowded club, all leering at _them._

"It would seem," Sherlock breathed, "That it is our turn to perform. And, judging by the tender flesh in the crook of my left arm my sudden elevated heart rate, I've been given something to ensure I am compliant."

John could see it now: the light sheen of sweat on Sherlock's brow, the dilation of his pupils, "They drugged you."

"I just said that, John, do keep up." Sherlock swallowed sluggishly, "And if we fail to give a good show, we may very well end up like the victims found in the Thames."

It had been those blasted murders that had led them to this club in the first place, "Alright," John whispered, "What do you need me to do?"

Sherlock gave him an even look, "Considering the fact I'm the one chained in the presenting position, I'm to assume I'm to be the bitch in this exhibition. So please John, do bugger me before they kill us."

Leave it to Sherlock to be clinical about a "fuck or die" situation. No pressure or anything.

John took a deep breath, making his way over to Sherlock, "Just let me know if you need me to do anything or if I'm hurting you." He murmured, taking in Sherlock's appearance.

Already he could see Sherlock's usual control slipping, his lips were parted ever so slightly, tongue slipping out to wet them every so often, and his pale cheeks had the faintest hints of flush on them. With a deep breath, John leaned in, kissing Sherlock deeply.

Considering the fact he had never kissed a man before, John had to operate on the assumption that it was very much the same as kissing a woman. So he started soft, getting used to Sherlock's lips before moving on to more aggressive tactics. Sherlock's bottom lip was plump and supple under John's teeth as he bit and pulled on the tender flesh. Exactly like a woman.

The breathy gasp that sounded from Sherlock, while light and effeminate in comparison to Sherlock's voice, was still deep and rough enough to break John from his thoughts, "John…" Sherlock gasped, "What are you doing?"

"It's called foreplay, Sherlock." John muttered, "I have to get us in the mood, not to mention put on a show, don't I?"

He could hear the murmurs of the club's onlookers, appraising their looks and their kiss. John knew from watching too many porn films, that kissing was hardly enough to keep an audience entertained. So he moved to Sherlock's neck, kissing and biting at the pale column of flesh there. Being so close, he could feel the tremor moving beneath the consulting detective's skin. It was when John nibbled at Sherlock's collarbone that he got another gasp.

"John," Sherlock's voice cracked a bit, "How are you doing that?"

While John didn't answer Sherlock, instead opting to kiss his way to Sherlock's chest, the innocent question struck a chord with him. Sherlock really had no clue how sex worked, at least not sex with another person. He was losing his virginity in front of a crowd.

But damnit, John was going to make sure it was the best damn sex Sherlock might ever have.

John licked a pale pink nipple while teasing the other one with his hand. He was used to being able to hold plump breasts in his hands while he did this, but John found he didn't mind the smooth muscle of Sherlock's chest, nor did he mind the breathy pant coming from Sherlock, too husky to belong to _any_ woman.

Then John noticed the very familiar, though still very foreign, piece of anatomy between Sherlock's legs. Bloody hell, he looked ready to burst. John had to pause for a moment. He'd never dealt with another man's junk before…but if it kept them both from taking a swim in the Thames…

He breathed a puff of warm air onto the head of Sherlock's penis, already dripping with precum. The result was a shudder and a high keening sound from Sherlock. _That_ was certainly a new one. _Well, in for a penny, in for a pound…_ John took a deep breath before licking the length, from base to tip, even sparing a moment to tease the slit at the tip. The taste was bitter and musky, but it wasn't the worse thing John had encountered.

Especially if it resulting in Sherlock Holmes _mewing_ and moaning the way he was. John had been expecting the instinctual thrust of Sherlock's hips, and kept a firm grip on them to keep from choking. While he was willing to suck him off, deep throating was not on the agenda.

Sherlock's moans were intelligible as John sucked and licked his penis, and for that, John was grateful. It drowned out the sounds of the crowd watching them, watching _him_. But John could still feel when coins and bills landed against him.

They were throwing bloody _money_ at him while he was sucking off his best friend.

With a _pop_, John let Sherlock's cock fall from his mouth.

"Please John…" Sherlock breathed, his voice hoarse, "Don't stop…I _beg_ of you…"

When they got out of this, and John swore they would get out of this mess, he would make sure Sherlock hadn't been harmed too extensively. Because anything that reduced Sherlock Holmes to _begging_ was a terrible fate to suffer for the consulting detective.

"It's going to be alright, Sherlock." John ran a hand down Sherlock's side, hoping to sooth the strung out genius. But Sherlock was shaking so bad, it was a miracle his legs could still support him. Right then, best get this over with.

For a brief moment, John wondered how on earth he was going to…perform. Only to realize a moment later that he was just as hard as Sherlock. _He had gotten hard from sucking off his best friend._ And _he_ didn't have the excuse of being drugged.

In the corner of the cage, John noticed a crate of devious looking sex toys. He only cringed more as he began to dive through it, looking for something to help Sherlock. Gags, whips, dildos (no need for a fake dick when you've got a real one between your legs), vibrators, cock rings… No, John wouldn't use any of those…not for Sherlock's first time. It was bad enough the genius was chained up.

Then, the doctor found what he was looking for: a bottle of commercial lubricant. He might have to rape Sherlock in front of a club, but he was _not_ going to hurt him any more than he was already.

Squeezing a large amount onto his fingers, John carefully examined the tight ring of muscle between Sherlock's cheeks. _It's just like giving a prostate exam,_ He told himself (except prostate exams don't involve cherry scented lubricants…or chains…).

Sherlock was tight around his finger. Tight and _hot_. John flushed as if he hadn't been running red hot from the get go, "Relax…you need to relax or this will hurt."

He half expected Sherlock to retort with some comment about the male anatomy and understanding of how the sphincter worked, but instead, Sherlock only nodded repeatedly, mouth gaping open as he panted. John returned to his work of stretching Sherlock, squeezing in a second finger and scissoring them until the muscle relaxed enough for a third. By now, Sherlock was whimpering. John bit his lip, using his medical expertise to find that one spot and—

As John stimulated Sherlock's prostate, Sherlock let out a raw scream, back arching so far that the chains above him rattled. For a moment, John feared he had hurt his friend, until Sherlock's wanton chanting hit his ears, "Please John, again! Again, again, again…"

Unable to help himself, John did it again, with similar results. And, judging by the amount of money thrown at the cage, the audience enjoyed it.

_Well bugger them,_ John thought sourly, withdrawing his fingers and pouring more lubricant onto his hand (he would never be able to smell cherries the same way again). He hesitated before lathering his own cock with the lube, suddenly reveling in the sensations he realized he had been going without the entire ordeal. With a gulp, he positioned himself behind Sherlock, laying a hand on the genius's hip.

Sherlock strained his neck to look back at John, eyes dark and cheeks and lips a bright cherry red (now John would never be able to _look_ at cherries the same way again). His lips, John realized, were red from being bitten until they bled. "John…" He whispered, "…_I trust you_."

It was that trust, more than anything else, that sent John over the edge. He was slow and deliberate sliding into Sherlock, going inch by inch into the consulting detective until he was almost completely sheathed, then withdrew nearly all the way before snapping his hips forward, sliding home into Sherlock's tight heat.

_Home_. As twisted as it sounded, that's the only way John could describe it. He tried to keep his thrusts slow at first, to get Sherlock used to the sensation, but he had denied himself too long. And Sherlock wasn't helping, rocking himself back to meet John's thrusts. John was spiraling out of control, slamming harder, faster, _deeper_ than he ever had with any of his girlfriends.

He knew he was getting close, every sensation was sending him over the edge. Who knows, maybe he _had_ been drugged… It was all John could do to keep himself in control as his orgasm ripped through him, filling Sherlock with semen. Belatedly, he realized he should have warned Sherlock, but he hadn't exactly been thinking coherently.

Suddenly exhausted from no doubt a mixture of the fast sex and the crash of his adrenalin high, John lazily reached around Sherlock to bring the genius to completion.

Only to find Sherlock was completely flaccid. John briefly wondered if he was _that bad_ of a shag. It was then John noticed the splatters of white semen on the floor of the cage (not to mention Sherlock's chest).

John didn't pay attention to the applause of the crowd as he slid out of Sherlock, nor did he notice when the lights had gone to the next cage "exhibition."

He was only concerned with Sherlock. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

Sherlock looked dazed, staring into the distance, "Brilliant…" he whispered.

John blinked, "Excuse me?"

That snapped Sherlock out of his blissed out state, "I mean, er, no, I'm fine John."

_Sherlock Holmes does _not_ use "er"_ John knew from experience. But now wasn't the time, "Well, that's good then... I'd hate to be a bad experience for you…"

Sherlock shook his head, "I understand now…" the dark look in his eyes was gone, replaced by the bright, clear look Sherlock got when he had made a brilliant discovery.

"Er, sorry?" John raised an eyebrow, "Understand what now?"

Sherlock looked at him, "What all the fuss is about this sex nonsense. Or rather, not so much nonsense, now is it?" He was grinning, "I'm nearly high from endorphins! This is better than the cocaine…I should have discovered this sooner…and _you!"_

John cleared his throat, "Me?" He really should have expected Sherlock to get giddy during the case, even after being deflowered for other people's entertainment.

"_Yes, you, you bloody brilliant idiot!_" Sherlock was panting again, "This explains all those women going after you! They somehow _knew_ you were so…so…oh blast it, what's the word? Never mind, you're _perfect…_And now, you're mine. No one else can have you."

John opened his mouth to protest (even if he wasn't sure _what _he protesting), then sighed. "Of course, Sherlock. Now why don't we get you out of those chains, get dressed, and get the hell out of this creepy place?"

Sherlock nodded, "Of course. Lestrade is most likely waiting for us to call him in to raid this club. But first…we really should collect that money. That's nearly two months rent right there."

* * *

_Well, there's my first attempt at smut! Let me know what you think! I'm actually tempted to write this from Sherlock's POV...should I?_


	2. Sherlock's POV

_Well, back by popular demand, here is Sherlock's POV! This is exactly what happened in Chapter 1, just from Sherlock's POV_

* * *

_He was naked. Usually not a good sign when one is investigating an illegal sex club. And, judging by the weight around his wrists, he was bound. With steel. Another poor sign. The floor beneath his bare feet was cold, probably steel as well by the texture. So most likely a cage._

Naked and chained in a cage in a sex club. A bit not good.

"This disaster is entirely your fault."

Ah, John was conscious, lovely. John was agitated, judging by the sound of his voice. Sherlock knew that tone, it was similar to the way John would chastise him for leaving experiments in close proximity to food. Well that was good then, John wasn't mad, just annoyed at the circumstances.

"Really John, I think you are exaggerating just a bit." Sherlock flexed his hands and arms, testing his circulation. The manacles weren't too tight, but not loose enough for him to slip out of. Also, there was a curious tenderness in the crook of his arm. He would need to make note of that…

"We're in a cage in the middle of an underground sex club, _stark naked_, and you think I'm exaggerating?"

Leave it to John to state the obvious. Sherlock _had_ hoped he could break the doctor of the habit. He would simply have to try harder in the future. But first, they would be required to get out of their current predicament. "I was referring to your suggestion that this is _all_ my fault."

"You're the one who decided to break in." John muttered, another nasty habit Sherlock swore to remedy. He could feel the warmth of John's proximity as the doctor examined his bindings.

_Skin to skin contact, John was naked as well_. No doubt they would be forced into some form of sexual encounter. At least he wouldn't be labeled "The Virgin" anymore…"And you decided to follow me."

John sighed. His exasperated sigh, the one that usually meant he couldn't find a proper response. Of course he couldn't, Sherlock was right again. But while John was sighing, Sherlock realized that his heart rate had jumped from 66 beats per minute to 90, and the rate was climbing. That, in addition to his rapidly increasing temperature, must be the result of the injection he received.

_Poison, perhaps?_

"Sherlock, I-"

The stage lights came on at the same time their cage was uncovered, revealing the crowded club. Sherlock begun scanning the crowd with his eyes, identifying any notable people for the investigation. He didn't get far before he felt a very stiff and very _hot_ sensation between his legs.

_Ah, not a poison then. Aphrodesiac. Increased heart rate to increase blood flow to the genitalia._ Sherlock could already feel himself struggling to maintain complete control of his body (_transport_, he reminded himself), but his body did not cooperate.

"It would seem," Sherlock breathed, detesting the sound of it all, "That it is our turn to perform. And, judging by the tender flesh in the crook of my left arm my sudden elevated heart rate, I've been given something to ensure I am compliant."

John was at his side now, looking him over. _No doubt checking for the same symptoms previously stated_. "They drugged you."

"I just said that, John, do keep up." Sherlock swallowed sluggishly, swearing to himself to devote more time to training the doctor's mind, "And if we fail to give a good show, we may very well end up like the victims found in the Thames."

_There, that should jump start John's focus_. _Remember the case_, _the victims…_

Alright," John whispered, "What do you need me to do?"

_Or not…_

Sherlock gave him an even look, "Considering the fact I'm the one chained in the presenting position, I'm to assume I'm to be the bitch in this exhibition."_Use of carnal vocabulary to provide sufficient imagery, "_So please John, do bugger me before they kill us." _Simple, direct instruction. _If John couldn't figure out that much, there really was no hope for him.

John took a deep breath, his "fine, you win" style of inhalation, "Just let me know if you need me to do anything or if I'm hurting you." He murmured, his eyes moving over Sherlock's face and body.

Sherlock didn't answer. It didn't matter really what he needed, they just needed to provide a believable act of anal intercourse. _How tedious_… but he decided to put the time to good use. He could finish compiling the club occupants while John provided the service.

_Front row, male, late 50's. Banker, swindling thousands from investors. Next to him, Female, early 30's. Most likely born male, surgery recent, not used to the gap between her-_

Sherlock's view was broken by John pressing his lips to Sherlock's. _What was John doing? This wasn't sex, he was wasting time…_

But judging by the murmurs of the crowd, they didn't mind the delay.

John kissed a certain way, at least with all the girlfriends Sherlock observed. _First the light pressure to assure compliance before the further assault. No doubt he would begin to bite—_

The thought fizzled and died as John's teeth played with his bottom lip, tugging and pulling. It was an animalistic act, Sherlock knew that, simply lip biting. But that didn't explain the tingles that spread from his lips down his body and into every lobe of his brain.

_A bit good…a bit__** very**__ good._

He found himself gasping, the rush of air stimulating his already sensitive lips. "John…" Sherlock managed to get his vocal chords under control enough to form intelligent thoughts, "What are you doing?"

"It's called foreplay, Sherlock." John muttered, the hot air from his breath sending shivers down Sherlock's spine. "I have to get us in the mood, not to mention put on a show, don't I?"

_"In the mood" slang for aroused, erect. As I am already erect, John is thus preparing himself for sex_. _Logical plan of attack_ . Sherlock could allow the delay. Hopefully now that John had aroused himself (as well as Sherlock, not that he _needed_ further arousal), John could continue with the sex and Sherlock could continue with his compilations.

_Murmurs of approval from the crowd: good news. Man in the three piece suit tucked away in the corner, doesn't want to be seen. Most likely because he is a regular at the Diogenes Club, oh, _that_ one will be delightful to tell Mycro—_

**_John. _**

**_Kissing, biting his neck. Teeth and lips caressing his carotid artery. _**

Sherlock froze at the sensation. He knew that with the right application of force, John could tear through the skin and the artery, leaving Sherlock to bleed out on the floor of the cage. Knowing that John had that much power beneath his lips sent a tremor through Sherlock, each nerve crackling with life.

_Focus, Sherlock. The man at the back of the room is having an affair with his wife due to the—_

**_John._**

**_Teeth scrapping, biting his left clavicle._**

**_John._**

For 10 seconds, 10 _long _seconds, Sherlock thought nothing, _saw_ nothing,_ observed_ nothing. All he could feel was John's mouth against his collarbone.

Sherlock gasped. His mind, however momentarily, had ceased to function. Because of John.

"John," Sherlock's voice cracked a bit, more evidence of his crumbling control, "How are you doing that?"

John didn't answer, instead Sherlock could feel the doctor's lips move down his chest, each new contact burning his nerves.

Then John flicked his tongue across one of Sherlock's nipples. What is John doing? Sherlock had no breasts for him to fondle, nor was John an infant needing to nurse. It made no—

**_John. Kissing, biting, teasing the tender flesh. One with his mouth, the other being rolled and pinched by strong and skilled fingers_****.**

Sherlock's breaths came in heavy pants now. He couldn't even see the crowds now, let alone deduce them. All he could feel was John's mouth unraveling him. When Sherlock felt John's mouth leave his skin, he looked, watching the doctor's every move. John was moving down, closer to Sherlock's erect penis. Surely John had no intention of handling _that_, it was completely unsanitary. _No one _had touched Sherlock there since he was–

**_John. Hot breath against sensitive, private skin. _**

Sherlock's muscles all rebelled at once, causing his body to shake and shudder, while his vocal chords let loose an utterly wanton sound, like a bitch in heat. Suddenly, Sherlock's choice of words made more sense.

He could feel John's tongue travelling the length of his phallus, teasing the tip and smearing Sherlock's secretions over the head. Sherlock could feel his chest rumble as he let loose a low moan. John had his mouth around him now, licking and sucking the most intimate part of him.

Sherlock bucked his hips, desperate for more of the sensation, more of _John. _But John held him still with those strong hands, hands that could kill just as easily as they could heal.

It was only when he saw the coins and bills being thrown into the cage that Sherlock even remembered they were in the club, that they weren't alone, that the world didn't just consist of him and John.

John must have noticed, because he ceased his ministrations on Sherlock's flesh, releasing him with a _pop_

"Please John…" Sherlock breathed, vocal chords rough and hoarse from moaning, "Don't stop…I _beg_ of you…"

This must have been what The Woman had been referring to when she told him she'd make him beg twice. Sherlock didn't _beg_ for anything, but he _needed_ John to continue. He was falling apart and he needed John to…to…Sherlock couldn't even think of what John might do to help.

John's voice sounded in Sherlock's ear "It's going to be alright, Sherlock." His voice was as steady as ever, not even fazed by the torrid state Sherlock was in. Was this John, then? Did John reduce all his lovers to this state? Did he _know _he was driving Sherlock insane?

He could feel John's hand down hiss side, a soothing gesture, like Sherlock was a spooked animal. But it didn't still Sherlock's quivering muscles. Through pride and force of will, Sherlock remained standing.

In the moments John took to rummage through the case in the corner of the cage, Sherlock tried to reassemble his mind. He needed to focus on The Work. The Case. The Suspects.

He tried to deduce the crowd again, he really tried. But the scent of cherries, partnered with a hand resting on his hip, broke that train of thought instantly.

**_John. Breeching inside him, filling him._**

Sherlock stiffened on reflex. It was _wrong_, the sensation, so foreign, so strange. It was just John's finger, but everything felt so _hot…_

"Relax…you need to relax or this will hurt." John's voice was slow, even, soothing. It was logical, Sherlock noted, John was instructing him on the proper way to act so the intercourse wouldn't cause any permanent damage. So Sherlock took a deep breath, nodding his ascent and willing his muscles to allow the intrusion. To his shame, he was still panting heavily.

John had two fingers inside him now, stretching him further. The more John worked, the less pain Sherlock felt, and the more pleasure he felt.

Then John touched his prostate.

Sherlock didn't even _know_ he could scream with such savage force. His body arched back, chains rattling as he came violently, painting his chest and the floor with semen. Behind him, John stilled, not moving. Sherlock couldn't bare it. "Please John, again! Again, again, again…"

He hated sounding like a wanton whore, but he _needed_ John, needed _all _of him. This was twice now he was begging, all for John. And John, bless his heart, gave Sherlock what he wanted, stimulating him again and again, quickly arousing him to full hardness again.

He was whimpering when John removed his fingers, leaving Sherlock empty. Sherlock could smell cherries again (_the lubricant, _his mind supplied, _John is lubricating his own penis)_ before John's hand was on his hip again.

But John didn't move other than that. Sherlock turned his head to look back at John, to see what the delay was.

John, his blogger, was staring right back at him, examining his face. Sherlock could tell that John was preparing himself mentally, like any good soldier before a mission. But the look in John's eye said something else. _Are you ready?_

"John…" Sherlock whispered, beyond the hearing of anyone besides his doctor, "…_I trust you_."

And in that moment, Sherlock realized it was true. He trusted John with his life, his body, and his mind.

It was all the permission John needed, as he pushed himself into Sherlock. It was a wonderful sensation, to be filled and stretched by John. _Is this what all those women approaching John are after? This feeling?_

But then John began to withdraw, nearly pulling out completely. The sensation made Sherlock whimper, he _needed _John inside him!

And with that, John snapped forward, filling Sherlock more than he ever thought he could have been filled before.

**_John._**

John inside him, filling him. John, rocking into him with each thrust, John, hitting something deep inside him, short circuiting everything in his mind.

**_John._**

**_John._**

**_John. John. John…_**

And then, Sherlock felt John ejaculate inside him, filling him with his sperm.

And his mind went blank.

He could see nothing, observe nothing, _know_ nothing. There was nothing in his mind palace, no facts from which he could glean. He looked out at the crowd and saw no tell tale bits of information from which he could unravel their secrets.

His mind was empty. He had deleted everything.

Just when he was about to panic (or mourn the loss of his genius), everything came crashing back to him. All his knowledge, his _genius, _back with full force and a renewed focus. He panted heavily as his mind cut through the fog of tedious details like a razor through rice paper.

When Sherlock had used cocaine, it allowed him to dull the constant barrage of information he saw on a daily basis, to ignore the world outside and become blissfully unaware. But _this…_it was like defibrillator jump starting a heart with ventricular fibrillation: stopping the inefficient and rapid functions completely before allowing a stronger, more _effective_ patterns to develop.

He was so enthralled with the new details of his mind that he didn't feel John withdraw from him, and barely heard his voice over the applause of the crowd, "I didn't hurt you did I?"

Sherlock's mind, his senses, were better than he had ever experienced., "Brilliant…" he whispered.

John, the poor fool, sounded confused, "Excuse me?"

"I mean, er, no, I'm fine John."_ Idiot, _Sherlock swore to himself for allowing himself to appear less than his usual cool self.

_"_Well, that's good then..." John nodded, "I'd hate to be a bad experience for you…"

Sherlock shook his head, _He really has no idea what a marvel he is, _"I understand now…"

"Er, sorry?" John raised an eyebrow, looking at Sherlock carefully "Understand what now?"

Sherlock looked at him, hoping he could explain things in simple terms for the doctor, "What all the fuss is about this sex nonsense. Or rather, not so much nonsense, now is it?" He was grinning, like he had a triple murder to solve. He hadn't felt this great in _ages,_ "I'm nearly high from endorphins! This is better than the cocaine…I should have discovered this sooner…and _you!"_

John cleared his throat, looking sheepish, "Me?"

"_Yes, you, you bloody brilliant idiot!_" Sherlock was panting again, sparing a glance over John's body. Judging by John's flaccid state, he could debunk the "shoe size in ratio to penis size" myth. John was much bigger. No wonder the women flocked to him, "This explains all those women going after you! They somehow _knew_ you were so…so…oh blast it, what's the word? Never mind, you're _perfect…_And now, you're mine. No one else can have you."

There was simply no other solution for it: John _must_ belong to Sherlock now. Sherlock could not allow John to use his magic touch on anyone, and he knew now why John enjoyed sexual encounters so much. Sherlock could abide John, they had many experiments in that field to explore.

John sighed his "you win" sigh again, "Of course, Sherlock. Now why don't we get you out of those chains, get dressed, and get the hell out of this creepy place?"

Good old John, thinking of the present. And realizing resistance was futile. It would be perfect once they returned to 221b Baker Street. They would move into Sherlock's room, and the second bedroom could become a lab. Sherlock would never need to experiment in the kitchen again, and John could have sex with Sherlock whenever he liked.

It made perfect sense.

"Of course. Lestrade is most likely waiting for us to call him in to raid this club." Sherlock nodded, "But first…we really should collect that money. That's nearly two months rent right there."

* * *

_Oh those boys! I hope you all enjoyed it! Let me know if you want this to continue and, if so, what you want to happen!_


End file.
